


Coming Of Age

by vials



Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, and by kinda I mean a lot, this is kinda cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 12:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11059044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: Jim Prideaux, with some difficulty, has settled back into the daily grind of teaching life. Luckily for him, his students are growing up fast and bringing him no end of drama to be entertained by, and no one is doing so quite like Bill Roach.





	Coming Of Age

“A quick word, if you don’t mind, Mr Roach,” Jim said, as his students were filing past his desk and out the door. 

Bill, a strange mix of defiant and nervous, fell back and waited, to a loud chorus of _“oooh!”_ s from his classmates. Jim waited until the last boy had filed out and shut the door behind him, and then he looked at Bill, fixing him with a long stare. When Bill began shuffling from foot to foot, Jim decided to put him out of his misery.

“I suppose you know why I wanted a word?” he asked, and Bill gave a small shrug. Under Jim’s gaze, he finally mumbled a response.

“Because of how I was acting in class?”

“Correct,” Jim said simply. “It’s very unlike you, Bill. You’re usually very well behaved. A lot quieter, too.”

Bill gave another shrug, staring at his shoes.

“Chin up, Bill. Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

Bill dragged his gaze up to meet Jim’s, his eyes unnaturally large behind his thick glasses. Jim stared at him for a moment, realising then that he looked slightly older. Some of the baby fat was gone from his cheeks, a shadow of jawline was beginning to become visible. He didn’t think that Bill was ever going to be _skinny_ , as such, but it looked like if things carried on this way, his classmates were going to have to think of something other to refer to him as than ‘Michelin Man’.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard any of them call him that for some time. What was more, when he thought back to the chaos that had been his last class, several of the boys had appeared to be laughing _with_ Bill, rather than at him.

“Ah,” Jim said, raising an eyebrow. “I see what’s going on.”

“You do?” Bill asked, blinking in confusion. As far as he was concerned Jim had spent the last several seconds staring at him in silence, and he wasn’t sure what he could have done to lead Jim to any conclusions. 

“Your classmates have found out you’re a funny man, huh?” Jim asked, leaning back in his seat. “Hell, you’ve found out you’re a funny man.”

“Well, I mean…” Bill began, trailing off.

“Come on, Bill. If you’ve got a talent, admit to it.”

“I suppose I am a bit funny, then,” Bill said, shrugging again. “I never used to be, but. I don’t know what changed. Beats being laughed at, though.”

“I’m sure it does,” Jim said. “Here’s the deal. You promise me that you’re going to focus on your schoolwork just as much – preferably slightly _more_ – as your jokes in my class, and I let you off this once without a detention. Sound fair?”

Bill nodded, the relief evident on his face. “Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr Prideaux. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t mention it. Just remember the deal. Now hurry along to your next class, Funny Man.”

*

Out of pure interest, Jim kept a close eye on Bill. It was fascinating to watch, in a way, and the immense relief that Jim felt whenever he saw Bill actually interacting with children his own age was pleasant. He enjoyed spending time with Bill, of course, and he had settled in quite nicely to the fact that Bill seemed to have adopted him as his father figure, even though it had taken a lot of getting used to. But that was the thing – a father figure shouldn’t double up as a boy’s only friend, especially when they were an oftentimes bitter, borderline alcoholic who was dealing with a lot of issues. Bill still wasn’t as good as the other boys at their main time passers – mostly sports – but he made do, and had become the most entertaining goalie anybody had ever seen in a while. He was growing quite good at that, Jim thought – between all the theatrics and the dramatically hurling himself around after the ball, he was actually managing to prevent quite a few goals. 

Perhaps the most flattering thing was that Bill still had time for Jim and his caravan, which Jim had still not moved out of, despite insisting that he would, eventually.

“I don’t know how you haven’t shrunk,” Bill told him one day, when they were crammed up at the small table, watching the rain outside. “You’d think you would have like, evolved or something by now.”

“I think that might take a few thousand years yet, Bill.”

“Alright, maybe I just won’t grow.”

“I don’t think it works like that, either,” Jim said, and Bill grinned. 

“You think I’ll get much taller?”

“I have no idea. How tall are your parents?”

“They’re alright, I guess. Not as tall as you, though. I hope I get to a decent height. I don’t want to be a minman.”

Jim snorted. “A minman?”

“Yeah,” Bill said, grinning again. “A short man. Like, a mini man. Minman.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much yet. You’re all minmen.”

“Apart from Harry. He’s already like, six foot.”

“Not quite.”

“Five foot ten, then. Which is freakishly tall compared to the rest of us.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Jim said, and Bill looked at him questioningly. “It’s always the short boys that end up growing the most. You’ll just do it over one summer, I bet. You’ll come back and you’ll be as tall as me.”

*

It was odd to think that there would come a day when Jim would look at Bill and see a man where there was once a boy. He had grown to understand that the same thing would happen with all his pupils, and indeed he had days where he simply couldn’t believe that Adam had stubble ghosting his chin, or James had apparently grown two inches over half term, or the very amusing period of time where four boys in his class all had their voices breaking at the same time, and he often thought that he was in a room with a bunch of squeaky toys. It was odd to look at them all and know he remembered them when they had basically been babies; Jim wondered if this was what a parent felt like. 

Especially when it came to Bill. Though still lagging behind some of his classmates he had definitely grown, and more of the puppy fat was gone. It was difficult to believe that this Bill was the same Bill that Jim had first met, slinking around the place and looking as though he wanted to apologise for breathing, which Jim was still fairly sure he had done at least once in his lifetime. He still wasn’t the most confident kid in the world but he was trying, and that was more than could be said for him six months ago.

Therefore it was with equal parts amusement and curiosity that Jim found Bill wandering around the school grounds one afternoon, kicking an empty can along before him and muttering to himself. It was growing closer to the end of the school year and as a result the boys had the afternoon off classes, which was a bonus for the teachers as well – taking a break from grading some end of year papers, Jim had stepped out into some of the rare sunshine for a walk around and had found Bill shortly after. He followed at a distance for a while and then, seeing that Bill hadn’t appeared to have gotten over whatever had been bugging him, caught up with him in a few quickened strides.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” he said, as Bill continued kicking the can. “No way to spend your afternoon off, huh?”

“I’m taking a breather,” Bill said, dramatically, and Jim gave a small smile.

“A breather. What’s going on?”

“I’m trying to be mature about this,” Bill said, jutting his chin out slightly. “But it’s very difficult when _some people_ are complete imbeciles.”

“Don’t tell me someone’s started the Michelin Man jokes again. It’s a bit old.”

Bill snorted. “Nah. Not that.”

“So what?”

“I won a bet,” Bill said. “And Adam isn’t paying up.”

“Ah, money,” Jim said, nodding knowingly. “That old enemy.”

“I won the bet fair and square, and he won’t even bother himself to make an _excuse_ as to why he isn’t paying. Who does that? If you’re gonna be a stingy pig at least own up to it. I’d have more respect for that.”

“What did you do to win the bet?” Jim asked curiously. Bill’s cheeks flushed red.

“That’s classified,” he stammered, and Jim grinned and let him leave it at that.

*

According to sources in the staff room, the much-disliked physics teacher had arrived back to his classroom the next morning to find, in his words, “an unnaturally large and desperately crude penis” drawn on his blackboard. Jim acted suitably horrified and enraged along with the rest of the staff, and kept his mouth closed. 

*

“Mr O’Neill wasn’t a fan of your handiwork,” Jim told Bill, as they sat outside his caravan on another unnaturally warm day, cola for Bill and cola with a little something extra for Jim. His shoulder was giving him trouble today and it always put him in a foul mood if all he had to do was focus on it, so he was glad for the company. 

“You didn’t snitch,” Bill said, grinning, and Jim laughed.

“I think there are worse crimes to commit than a bit of fun. It was an impressive feat. I saw it myself. Very vulgar, good attention to detail. Maybe there’s an artist in you yet.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. I’ve peaked. Unless you can frame the blackboard and put it in a gallery I think I’m out of luck.”

“There are stranger things to have happened in art, trust me,” Jim said, trying not to think too much of the last artist he had known well. “How’s the money situation coming?”

“Still nothing,” Bill said, glaring somewhere off into the distance. “I think he thinks he’s going to get away with it. I’ve given him until seven this evening.”

“Or what?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll work it out when I get there.”

“I really hope I don’t find out tomorrow that the two of you are in detention for fighting. How will you explain that to the headmaster? You would have to start from the beginning, with the wonderful tale of the phantom penis artist.”

“I think we could probably unite to make something up,” Bill said, sniggering. “Football, or something. I actually play it now. It wouldn’t look completely out of this world. Though maybe the headmaster would have trouble believing I won, if that was the case.”

“You’re too young to be gambling,” Jim said, taking a sip of his drink. “Bad habit to get into.”

“Only if you lose,” Bill shot back, and Jim snorted. 

It got chilly quickly once the sun dipped down below the buildings, and soon they had to admit defeat, Jim to retreat inside to grade yet more papers and Bill to go and make an effort to study for his exams. Bill stood up and stretched and Jim was sure that he had grown a little more, maybe a quarter of an inch or so, and wondered just what he would look like when he came back from summer holidays. It was odd to think about the fact they were going to have six weeks without seeing one another – as sappy as it was, Jim was going to miss him.

“Try and behave,” Jim warned him, as he turned to leave. “Though I’m not expecting much these days.”

“I’ll revise first,” Bill said. “But then I’ll pay Adam a visit. Bitch better have my money, or I swear to god.”

Jim couldn’t help it – he burst out laughing, taking several long moments to calm himself down enough to make sure he had actually heard that, and that it hadn’t been some kind pf painkiller-induced hallucination.

“Excuse me?” he asked. “ _‘Bitch better have my money’_?”

“Well, he better!” Bill protested.

“Good lord, Bill, what kind of movies have you been filling your head with?”

“I’m just _saying_ that he’s a _bitch_ and he _better have my money_ ,” Bill said indignantly. “I don’t know what’s so funny.”

“It’s just strange to hear, that’s all.”

“I think it’s a reasonable request.”

“I mean it’s strange to hear from _you_. If you’d told me when I first laid eyes on you that you’d be coming out with that I would have laughed in your face.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bill said, rolling his eyes. His cheeks were a little flushed, but he was grinning. “You won’t be laughing when I get it.”

“And you won’t be laughing when you spend the last week of the term in detention,” Jim pointed out. “Though I suppose it’s all experience. If you fight him, at least make sure you win.”

Bill gave him a salute, and Jim was still laughing about it an hour in to grading papers.

*

The next time he saw Adam, the boy was sporting a black eye. When he then saw Bill filing into his class just behind, he quickly saw that he had one of his own and also an uncomfortable looking cut on his lip, but when he saw Jim looking he grinned and patted his pocket. The other teachers, apparently, bought the story that Bill had found a sudden passion for rugby.


End file.
